


Mr. Snuggles

by Sophia_Bee



Category: X-Men - All Media Types
Genre: Cats, Fluff, M/M, Ridiculous, Silly
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-16
Updated: 2017-03-16
Packaged: 2018-10-06 00:58:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,721
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10321883
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sophia_Bee/pseuds/Sophia_Bee
Summary: Mr. Snuggles does not like his name. Or, Charles and Erik get a cat. Actually a really cute gray Bengal kitten.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [haruka123](https://archiveofourown.org/users/haruka123/gifts).



> this bit of ridiculous silliness sprang from a comment. So I wrote it. Thank you **haruka123** for the inspiration. It also might be that I LOVE CATS.

Mr. Snuggles does not like his name. It’s an endlessly stupid name. Especially for a mighty beast like him. He has talent that is entirely wasted on his position as a house cat.

Mr. Snuggles is a lean, mean mousing machine. If he could find a mouse. He’s been up and down this entire cavernous house and has not found one single mouse to casually play with until it has fear embedded into its little mouse heart. Not a single fluffy little rodent he can disembowel and devour, leaving only the tail so his people can see how mighty he is. Then they might consider a different name.

Like Lionheart. Or Predator.

The sunny patch Mr. Snuggles has been lying in shifts a little, leaving one of his paws in the shadows. He shifts a little and stretches, exposing his sleek, furry spotted belly, feeling his muscles bunch and contract. He flicks his tail a little and lifts his head to peer across what he’s heard his people call the “library’. He watches a bit of dust drift down and his eyes start to slowly close again. He should go find a mouse. He should show them that he is a hunter, not some object to be scooped up and cuddled. He should….

Mr. Snuggles falls back asleep.

It’s not that he truly hates being scooped up and cuddled. It just happens a lot, mostly by the shorter one. The one called Charles. He might be napping in the “library” or rubbing his scent glands on the bannister just in case someone needs to know who owns this place, and suddenly he feels hands slide around his rib cage and he is being lifted up into the air, fingers going to scratch him under the chin.

_PURRRRRR…._

Mr. Snuggles sometimes resents the purr that rumbles up, and he thinks that his people clearly have no respect for him. If they did, they would not bother him and leave him to his exploits. He may not be able to find mice, but he has vanquished many a spider, and if they would just let him get out a door or window, there are birds on the patio that he would like to make his lunch instead of that dry kibble they pour into the metal bowl in the kitchen.

After all, he is a killer. Can’t they see that?

The one called Charles loves to pick up Mr. Snuggles. He picks him up any chance he can get. He picks him up when he is eating. He picks him up as he is practicing hunting along one of the many corridors, spoiling his efforts to track of a bit of fluff or one of those dastardly jingling round things that appear now and then. Worst of all, Charles doesn't just pick him up. He flips Mr. Snuggles on his back and rubs his face across his spotted belly all while speaking in this high pitched tone that grates on Mr. Snuggles ears.

It’s offensive.

Erik is the other one. Erik does not pick up Mr. Snuggles. Erik regards Mr. Snuggles with the same disdain that Mr. Snuggles holds for him. Erik circles Mr. Snuggles, sizing him up, and he speaks to him in the most untoward manner, informing him in no uncertain terms that he should not dare to get any fur on his expensive Italian wool custom tailored slacks.

Erik is Mr. Snuggles’ favorite.

One of Mr. Snuggles favorite games is to wear the one called Erik down, jumping on his lap only to be shooed off time and time again until Erik finds himself absently petting a happily purring gray bengal kitten.

Mr. Snuggles always wins.

This causes great consternation from Charles, who makes all sorts of huffing noises and lodges complaints that he is the one who feeds the kitten and brings the kitten toys.

He must not know about the midnight treats Erik gives Mr. Snuggles in the kitchen.

Mr. Snuggles has a favorite place. It’s the place his people sleep, all warm and soft and comfortable. He has heard it called a bed. He finds himself there hours during the day, curled in a ball, his paws over his eyes, sleeping deeply. Because after all, being a mighty hunter is hard work. A morning of climbing practice on the drapes and pouncing on squares of sunlight in the formal dining room demands rest. Stalking the halls searching for non existing mice and attacking bits of dust lit up by sunshine makes a cat, well, tired.

Mr. Snuggles does not quite get what Erik _(his favorite)_ and Charles use this bed for. Sometimes it is empty. Sometimes his people are sleeping in it too and Mr. Snuggles finds a warm place right between them, stretching out until his favorite stirs and lifts his head, directing a sleepy, annoyed gaze in Mr. Snuggles direction just before unceremoniously tossing him to the cold floor.

Other times it’s used for something entirely different. Some sort of vigorous exercise. Or hunting practice. Mr. Snuggles is not entirely sure. Whatever they are doing, it’s rather noisy.

The first time Mr. Snuggles came upon this human strangeness was after a rather intense nap in the living room that had been interrupted when the patch of sunlight Mr. Snuggles had been basking in moved. It was a much needed nap after a morning of watching birds out the window and imagining how they might taste. _(Good, he thinks)_

Upon nap interruptus, Mr. Snuggles decided to make his way to the bedroom. This is when he first encountered the strange behavior. He softly padded into the room to find his people are making these strange noises, loud grunts and gasps. Sensing they might be distressed, and being a particularly brave Bengal kitten, Mr. Snuggles launched himself onto the bed, extending out his claws, ready to battle. After all they don’t call him Dealer of Death for nothing.

No one actually calls him Dealer of Death, but Mr. Snuggles thinks it would be a nice name.

Mr. Snuggles claws sank into skin. Erik’s skin. It seemed that whatever his people were doing, they had taken off their clothes and Mr. Snuggles had not come to their aid but had succeeded in leaving long scratches across the naked backside of his favorite, the same person who had lept out of bed and stared at him. Behind him Charles was sitting up, naked as well, and laughing hysterically.

Mr. Snuggles was banned from the bedroom after that. That was a week ago.

Erik seems to be licking his wounds because he has spent that entire week glaring at Mr. Snuggles and no matter how many times Mr. Snuggles jumped on his lap, he cannot wear his favorite down.

Mr. Snuggles seems to have become Kitten Non Grata.

Mr. Snuggles is almost resigned to have to settle for the one named Charles, who continues to give too much affection, and sometimes Mr. Snuggles wishes there was a way he could tell Charles that he is NOT a dog. Then Charles leaves. Mr. Snuggles knows this because he gets into the bedroom after a great deal of yowling. _(It’s not begging. It’s all part of the plan.)_ Once there he discovers that Charles has something on the bed. It’s large and hard plastic, with fabric that lining the interior. Inside are several pieces of clothing. The kind that look perfect for a nap. Mr. Snuggles is rudely awakened an hour later when Erik grabs him and dumps him unceremoniously on the floor.

“The kitten.” Erik says to Charles, emphasizing the word kitten in a rather disdainful manner, “slept in your suitcase and has furred up all your clothes.”

Charles just laughs. Mr. Snuggles exits the bedroom, ignoring his former favorite, offering him only a flick of his ears and a nonchalant wave of his tail.

Later that day the ‘suitcase’ is put back together and appears by the front door, along with Erik and Charles, who keep smooshing their faces together. Mr. Snuggles watches them for a long moment then decides to attack one of Charles’ shoelaces. This earns him a glare from his former favorite and yet another cuddle from Charles, who says something about missing Mr. Snuggles.

Mr. Snuggles would rather not be missed. He would rather scratch your feet in the middle of the night to remind you that he is not some cute, cuddly plaything but a vicious killer. He would claw Charles in the nose to jog his memory, but his purr once again betrays him, and even heartless hunters can enjoy a good chin scratch.

That night the house seems oddly lonely without the one called Charles. Erik sits at the kitchen table and eats a bowl of cereal, giving the leftover milk to Mr. Snuggles, who considers turning his nose up at it, then yields. Erik slumps in front of the TV and Mr. Snuggles figures it won’t hurt to sit on the couch behind his head and groom his hair a little. Mr. Snuggles curls up and takes a nap after that.

He’s woken by finding himself lifted into the air by a pair of strong hands. Mr. Snuggles blinks sleepily as he looks into Erik’s face, who is considering him with a frown.

“Mr. Snuggles is an endlessly stupid name for a mighty beast like you.” Erik mutters. Mr. Snuggles purrs. The one called Erik regains his status as favorite. At least for now. “And you will never tell him that I did this.”

Mr. Snuggles wonders if his favorite remembers that he is a cat. He cannot tell Charles anything. What can he do with these humans?

Mr. Snuggles is carried to the bedroom and deposited onto the bed with a huff. Mr. Snuggles sits ramrod straight, wondering about this turn of events, still a little dazed from being woken so abruptly. Erik glares at him.

“Don’t get used to it.”

Mr. Snuggles relaxes then he turns, and then turns again. He settles down a bit then decides he should find an even more comfortable spot and proceeds to turn three more times. Finally he curls into a little ball of gray Bengal kitten, puts a paw over his eyes and goes to sleep. On his bed. With his favorite.

~fin~


End file.
